The Temptation of Sonny
by WillieHewes
Summary: .Don't you 'my Lord' me, I know what you really think of me! Zephon raged, and pointed a very sharplooking claw at Sonny's face. You despise me, all of you! Even my own sire hates me... Curse you Kain! Find a spike and fall on it!


  
  
THE TEMPTATION OF SONNY   
  
The road was long and tedious; the blasted heath of the Termogent a despair-inducing landscape, and yet the small figure walked with a distinct bounce in its step. He was a man on a mission, an important mission, at that. Carrying a letter to a clan leader was no small honour, as his captain Marius had made sure to imprint on him. And even though it seemed the Master had chosen him mainly for being the first man at hand, he was rather proud of himself. Being a messenger would bring him plenty of kudos, and yet it did not seem very taxing. All he had to do was deliver the message speedily and return home to the back-patting of his companions and the approving eye of his captain. Fortune definately smiled on Sonny tonight.   
  
The twisted spire of the cathedral had been visible on the horizon for an hour when the sun started peeping up on one side of it. It was well into winter-time and it would stay low all day, but for some reason, it wasn't clouded today by the thick smog that usually lay over Nosgoth. It was shining its feeble rays straight into Sonny's eyes, and, mission or no, Sonny quickly decided that his Master could not expect him to keep going in these conditions -- he could barely see. He was only seventy, by the blood, his skin would blister if he didn't find shelter soon. He crawled under a couple of thorny bushes and lay his head onto the cool, welcoming earth, his hood enclosing his eyes in the darkness they so craved. He would wait here a while, at least until the sun wasn't right in his eyes anymore. The message could not be so important that a few hours would matter much...   
  
When he awoke, dusk was setting in. He sat bolt upright and immediately got his blond hair tangled in the thorns of the shrub he'd slept under. He slowly extracted himself, cursing and swearing, shaking out his frozen limbs when he was once again out on the road. The cathedral still looked distant, reddened now by the setting sun. He had better hurry. Clasping the scroll-case firmly in his hand, he started to trot down the road towards Zephon's keep.   
  
Leaving the overgrown ruins of what had once been Avernus to his left, as he had been instructed, he soon approached the main gate of the cathedral. It was surrounded by a moat, but the drawbridge was down. He held the heavy, palm-sized coin that marked him out as a messenger high in the air as he crossed it.   
  
"I am Sonny of clan Raziel. I have a message from my Master to Lord Zephon," he declared loudly when he was in earshot of the guards. He realised they were human, which threw him for a moment. He could not be in the wrong place...? They examined the metal disk, stamped with the messenger's sigil, and opened the gate for him. One of the mortals accompanied him into the dark corridor that lay beyond; apparently the inside of the main wall. He was led to the right, up a long and narrow flight of stairs and into an enormous hall dominated by massive brass pipes running through the floor up to the ceiling. He couldn't help but gape at it, awed by the sheer scale of this human-built structure. He did not notice the girl approaching them. He first became aware of her smell, sweet and young, and snapped round. She was smartly dressed in form-fitting leather, her hair drawn back into a tight ponytail and she had a narrow gold band around her neck.   
  
"Greetings," she said, with the clipped accent of the East, and dropped to her knees before him.   
  
His breath caught in his throat; he had been shown respect before, this was the first time a mortal actually knelt for him. An acute bloodlust welled up in him.   
  
"I am Nemanja, acolyte to our Sweet Lord of Mercy. You have a message for him?"   
  
He frowned. "Sweet Lord of ... what?" he asked.   
  
"Lord Zephon," she said slowly, as if talking to a simple.   
  
"Oh, yes," he stammered, trying to recover his presence of mind before he made a complete fool of himself. "Take me to him."   
  
She smiled knowingly and lithely jumped to her feet, leading him on to another flight of stairs leading up. Fastened to the back of her outfit was a bunch of thin, heavy cords that fell down over her butt like a pony-tail. The strings tapped against her boot-clad calves as she hopped up the steps, a sight that made Sonny's throat feel dry and his stomach slightly funny. _Kain's blood,_ he thought, _why don't we have little bites like that running around as our acolytes? It would certainly cheer things up in Darstein..._   
  
She led him on through well-lit hallways with enormous brass pipes and stain glass windows, ever upwards, past three different guarded gates. Still, they had not met a single vampire, a fact that was starting to worry him. Where in hell could they all be? And how mad was Zephon that he depended on the cattle to guard his safety?   
  
.   
  
Finally, she halted at a plain, wooden door and knocked on it, giving Sonny a sideway glance that worsened his hunger by a degree.   
  
"Yes?" it sounded on the other side.   
  
She opened it and gestured for Sonny to enter. It seemed to be a small library, with several well-filled bookcases, a table in the corner and bright gaslamps hanging from the ceiling. A slender man with red hair was stood by one of the narrow windows, looking out, ignoring his visitor. He was barefoot, wearing leather trousers and a simple, sleeveless black shirt like they wore in the Sanctuary. Could this be Lord Zephon? Sonny had no idea what he looked like, but he certainly hadn't expected someone so... humble-looking.   
  
The acolyte knelt on both knees and closed her eyes with her head angled back. It was an odd pose, but apparently it was what was expected of her. "My gentle Lord?" she asked, "There is a messenger here from your divine brother Raziel."   
  
The name seemed to snap Zephon out of his reverie, and he crossed the room in a few paces, already holding out his hand.   
  
"Give it, hurry." He waited impatiently as Sonny fumbled with the scrollcase, and all but ripped it out of his hand. Apparently his message had been eagerly awaited, and Sonny felt all the more guilty for sleeping through the day. Zephon dropped the empty case on the floor and unrolled the letter. He began to read aloud. "'My dear brother,'" The rest was unintellegible, his lips working fast to keep up with his eyes, words melting together into a mumbled blur. Sonny heard a small sound behind him, and realised that the girl had left, closing the door behind her.   
  
"... Raziel." Zephon finished, sharp voiced. Suddenly, he burst out into a screaming fit: "Damn you, Raziel! Catch a plague and fester!" He crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it to the floor with a furious gesture. He stamped on it, still raging, "Starve to death and take your flee-ridden house with you! Burn in hell!" His cursing turned into a wordless roar, and he beat his fists against the wall in frustration. The plaster cracked slightly, and Sonny was backing towards the door. He wished he had left when the mortal did. Raziel hadn't said there'd be an answer, he probably shouldn't be here. He certainly wished he wasn't.   
  
Zephon leaned his back against the wall, wailing, and let himself sink to the floor. "You _do_ have the men to spare," he said in a pleading tone, "I know you do!" He turned to Sonny, as if only now becoming aware of his presence, and stood up again, beating the dust from his clothes. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, aggressively.   
  
Sonny tried to back away further, but he was up against the door.   
  
"What in hell do you expect me to do?"   
  
"M-my Lord?" Sonny asked, but this only provoked Zephon further.   
  
"Don't you 'my Lord' me, I know what you really think of me!" he raged, and pointed a very sharp-looking claw at Sonny's face. "You despise me, all of you!"   
  
Sonny breathed again when he turned away to address the empty room once more.   
  
"Even Kain hates me," he wailed. "My own sire! 'You can have the East, Zephon, you took Avernus, after all. They are rich lands, and _as far away from us as possible!' Saint's blood!_"   
  
It was unnerving, the speed at which his outbursts and calm moments followed each other. Composed once more, he turned to Sonny.   
  
"I don't know why I remain loyal, none of you care a whit about me," he said. Sonny was getting the feeling that despite appearances, he wasn't the one Zephon was actually talking to. He stayed very still, and prayed for an opportunity to leave.   
  
"If you think this cathedral is a problem, Zephon, why don't you do something about it?" Zephon asked him. "If the Turelim are destroying your herd, Zephon, why don't you drive them off? Why are you bothering us with your pathetic little problems, Zephon? Why don't you die, Zephon?" He turned to the ceiling and clenching his fist, shouted, "Curse you, Kain! Find a spike and fall on it! Burn in the abyss! Die!"   
  
Sonny's breath halted. He spent his nights with Marius' soldiers, rough-mouthed men, and he was no stranger to foul language himself. But never had he heard anyone openly cursing Kain. It was madness. Kain knew all. He half-expected Him to appear in this very room and strike Zephon down. A nervous little laugh escaped his lips before he could stifle it. It was starting to dawn on him that Zephon might well be quite insane. He switched to being calm again, not a trace of anger in his voice. He looked at Sonny, his arms hanging limply from sagging shoulders.   
  
"Blasphemy." He chuckled. "Comfort of the powerless." He frowned, as if trying to remember something. "Who are you? What do you want?"   
  
Now he was being addressed. Sonny panicked. Would he be able to avoid turning that madness onto himself? "I, that is, I'm the messenger," he stammered. "I just brought you the letter, my Lord." Was Zephon so far gone that he forgot things from one moment to the next?   
  
Zephon waved a dismissive hand at him. "Stop calling me that, you sound like one of my slaves. You call Raziel 'my Lord'?"   
  
Sonny laughed nervously. "Well, he is my Lord, is he not? That is..."   
  
Zephon raised his eyebrows, seemingly amused. "Is he, truly?" He looked down at the crumpled piece of paper that had weathered his wrath so recently. "Do you even know what message you were carrying?"   
  
"No, my L--" Sonny bit down on the last word just in time, and laughed again. It sounded hollow and desperate to his own ears, and he wished he could stop himself. But then Zephon joined in, his laugh almost as high-pitched and sickly as Sonny's. It was downright frightening. Sonny pressed his hand against his mouth to shut himself up, and Zephon shook his head, still chuckling.   
  
"You poor sod," he said. "What did you do?"   
  
Sonny froze. He stuttered for a moment. "Do?" he asked finally.   
  
"Generally, you don't send good people to carry bad news. I have a reputation for being unreasonable on top of that, and..." he looked down at the trampled missive again. "Let us say that with the message you were carrying, I don't think he's expecting you back."   
  
Sonny pressed himself against the door. He realised he was lucky to be alive, and that Zephon might decide to change that luck at any moment.   
  
"So I ask you, what did you do?" Zephon asked with a dangerously amused undertone.   
  
"I -- don't know?" Sonny choked. This was unreasonable! He hadn't done anything wrong! Why had Raziel sent him? This madman would not hesitate a moment before tearing him to shreds!   
  
"Don't worry," Zephon said, grinning. "I'll send you back safe and sound."   
  
Sonny kept pressing himself against the door, not at all convinced. His hand crept towards the doorhandle, and he tried to work out his chances if he made a dash for it now. Zephon frowned.   
  
"Stop looking at me like that," he said. "I said I'd let you go. I promise, all right? With any luck, it'll annoy him." He balled a fist, obviously trying to suppress a fresh wave of anger. "When you see him, tell him that I decline his pathetic, useless offer," he hissed, "in fact, tell him to take his weaponry and _impale himself on it!_" Drops of dark blood welled from his palm as he tightened his fist, using his other hand to stab a single claw at Sonny. "Tell him to drop down a hole, tell him to take a swim in the Lake of the Dead!" He screeched the last words, and then his manner switched abruptly again. He wiped his hand on his shirt, took up the crumpled message and flattened it out on a table in the corner.   
  
"Damn you all," he whispered hoarsely. His voice sounded ragged, as if he was on the verge of crying. "Are you enjoying this, Kain? Do you delight in my despair? What do you expect me to do?" He sat down and placed his elbows on the table, pressing his fists against his temples. "Think, Zephon!" he groaned. "You're smarter than them, use the one advantage you have! There must be a way..."   
  
He remained like this for a long moment, his eyes squeezed shut, and Sonny's heart finally had a chance to calm down. He mustn't fear, he told himself. Zephon had said he'd be allowed to leave. And he would be, naturally, he was a messenger, he enjoyed a certain immunity whilst performing this duty. Zephon was still sat at the table, motionless. "Sir," he tried, hoping that would get a better response than 'my Lord ' had. "Should I go?"   
  
Zephon's eyes snapped open. "No. You, sit down." He stood up and pointed at the chair. "Help me think."   
  
Sonny sat down, obediently, hoping that helping Zephon think did not require too much intelligence. He was a good soldier, but knew better than to think himself particularly bright. Zephon sifted through the contents of a low, broad drawer. He returned to the table with a map, which he rolled out on the table. It was Nosgoth, Sonny recognised the Sanctuary, and the clan's keeps marked with their symbols.   
  
"I'll start from the very beginning. You'll already know much of this, but I need to go over everything to see what I've missed," Zephon explained hastily. "Because I _have_ missed something." He emptied a jar of coloured pebbles over the map, and shoved them to one side. "You see, there is _always_ another option. A better way, if you look for long enough you will see another way."   
  
Sonny looked on, fascinated. Zephon talked at a feverish pace, but at least he wasn't shouting right now.   
  
"Yes, first of all, _this_ is me." He put down a pale blue pebble on his symbol on the map. "These are my children," he said, adding more pebbles around his. "And this is my herd." He grabbed a hand of fine grit from another jar and strew it around his side of the map. He stood back for a moment to look at his work. He no longer seemed so crazed, there was neither despair nor anger in his voice now. In fact, he seemed to be in his element. "They are healthy and plentiful," he continued. "They bleed for me often, and willingly, because I am their God."   
  
Sonny couldn't keep from frowning. He'd heard of this, and shared the general opinion that the arrangement was unnatural.   
  
"They turn to me in prayer, and I help them. I protect them, I bring them wealth and trade, my children hear their complaints and settle disputes, and in return, they give freely of their own blood. They don't have to sacrifice anyone, because they all share the burden, you see. Nobody has to die. They are safer here than in any other land, and so they worship me. I am their protector, their merciful Lord, the one who can bestow them immortality, if they are worthy. They believe in me. They love me."   
  
He spoke with genuine fondness, and Sonny wondered for a moment if there might not be something to it, if it allowed the herd to prosper...   
  
"As a result, my territory is bountiful and peaceful, the herd subdued and I have a larger stock of blood than anyone else!" He grinned broadly, his long and pointed teeth gleaming in the lamplight. Sonny leaned back slightly, alarmed. "They envy me," Zephon said darkly, referring to his brothers. "My herd is not merely loyal, but fanatically devoted. They would gladly die for me, because I don't force them to. I protect them, and in turn, they protect me. However," He took up a large, green pebble and placed it to the north of his territory. "_This_ is Turel. He doesn't have a herd, he complains, which is his own _festering_ fault for hunting them to extinction, but --" he stopped himself, "that is not important now. These are his clansmen." He lined the green pebbles up along the border of their territories, as if they were ready to invade. "They are starved, rabid animals, and that is no exaggeration, my friend, that is the honest truth!" He added some more, almost as an afterthought.   
  
Sonny nodded. He had never encountered the Turelim, but he'd heard the stories. By all accounts, they could not be reasoned with. And that was putting it mildly.   
  
"In the past, they would stray into my territory from time to time, and I would hunt them down and kill them, and then Turel would keep them in check again," Zephon explained. "Now, there's more of them every year, no matter what I do. Small bands roving the countryside, never in the same place, swift and surprisingly difficult to track, in spite of the trail of death and destruction they leave behind. Three months ago, a whole village was slaughtered. Men and women torn apart, blood in the streets, even their animals were maimed and killed. When we finally found them, it turned out to be a band of four. Four men!" he repeated, outraged. "And they killed an entire village in one night! Now you tell me that that's 'neither wanton nor indiscriminate'!"   
  
He crossed his arms indignantly, and Sonny shook his head, uncertain of what to say.   
  
"They are too many," Zephon sighed, leaning his hands on the table and poring over the map. "And my lands are too vast, I can't be everywhere at once. To make matters worse, it seems Turel's spawn have developed a real taste for Zephonim blood of late. They hunt _us_ now, and I am rapidly running out of men." He shook his head. "I've already lost some of my best... I'm making more, but let's be honest, for the first six months fledglings are more of a liability than any practical use, and I don't have that kind of time!" He banged the flat of his hand on the table. "I don't -- have -- time!" He turned away to pace the room again, one hand at his mouth. "Just blood..." he mused, then was quiet for a few moments. Sonny looked at him, captivated. Although he was still jumpy, part of him was really enjoying this. Zephon obviously trusted him, to tell him all this, and it was very exiting.   
  
"Remember that," he said, suddenly turning on Sonny and pointing a finger in his face. Sonny nodded. No time. Just blood.   
  
"I cannot defend my herd. I've failed in my single most important duty, and naturally, they are starting to doubt me. They do not give so freely anymore, they are losing faith, and if we cannot turn the tide, my men will go hungry, too. I can sustain them for a while, a long while, but not to the other end of eternity." He paced the room, gesturing angrily. "In a few years, Turel's men will have utterly destroyed what took me centuries to build." He grabbed two handfuls of red hair in an almost comical gesture of despair. "And there is nothing I can do about it! I can't ... think ..."   
  
Sonny stared at the map, quite engrossed by it all. He tried to think, what _could_ Zephon do?   
  
"Whatever you're thinking, say it," he heard Zephon command.   
  
"It -- er," Sonny stammered, the last thought gone from his mind like a dead leaf pulled off a tree. "The Turelim come here because they are hungry, right?"   
  
"Yes," Zephon said emphatically, "I know what you're saying. Offer them blood to keep them away. I have, time and time again, but Turel won't hear it." He shook his head in confusion. "It's against his principles or something, he simply refuses. Two years ago, I cornered one of their bands, and offered to keep them absolutely _showered_ in blood if they would just defend my villagers rather than prey on them. It's no good. They took the blood and kept hunting!" He was pacing up and down, gesturing wildly. "They are all blindingly loyal, first to Turel, second to Kain, third to each other... I rank somewhere next to dirt on their scale. It's no use! My wealth is worthless!" He stared wild eyed at Sonny, clearly expecting more.   
  
"Well, if you could actually 'shower' them in blood," he started, carefully, "that is, if you offered to feed them, surely soldiers from other clans..."   
  
Zephon nodded. "You would think that. Easier to find a hungry vampire in Nosgoth than sand on a beach. But who am I going to ask?" He counted on his fingers. "Melchiah won't talk to me, and anyway, his brood is barely better than humans. Dumah hates me openly, and is best friends with Turel besides. Rahab refuses to get involved in a clan war, which is a little rich considering his involvement with your lot, but never mind. That leaves only your master, and, oh, let's hear what he has to say." He pulled out the crumpled letter from under the map, and began to read ostentatiously.   
  
"My dear brother, I understand your predicament, but I don't care. I won't lend you my men for any price, because I need them all myself. Here," he held out an empty hand, "have some pointy sticks, maybe they'll be of use to you, especially since you've got no one to _carry the festering things!_ By the way," he continued to shout, "I hope you die and burn in hell. Your brother, Raziel. Kain's blood!" He threw the letter to the floor again and kicked one of the bookcases, embedding his claws in the wood. Cursing, he pulled his foot free and turned back to Sonny, who was tittering helplessly. "No," Zephon said, calmer, "that isn't what it really says. But it might as well. Raziel simply refuses, for no reason at all. He hates me. I've got no one left to turn to! I've appealed to Turel, I've asked Kain himself to intervene, I've turned to the Eldest but no one will help me. I've got nowhere to go!" He looked at Sonny as if he might help him. Sonny grinned apologetically.   
  
"All I asked for was a few men for this coming month. It is harvest time soon, my people will be out in the fields 'till past sunset -- the Turelim will have a feast! I don't have the men I need to protect them. It's madness, but if they don't they will starve. Half the harvest will go to waste as it is..."   
  
"Are your lands still that fertile?" Sonny asked. He had noticed, on his way here, how much greener everything seemed in the East, very different to the wastelands surrounding his own home..   
  
"Yes, but I've got no one to till them!" Zephon exclaimed. Then he suddenly froze, in the middle of his arm-sweep. "I've got no one..." he repeated, slowly. "... I've got land ... Of course!" He swept the pebbles from the map with a victorious gesture.   
  
"Land!" He stared at the map for a moment, elated, then turned to Sonny. "My dear boy," he said putting a hand on his shoulder, "I have to thank you." He paused for a second. "And I don't even know your name."   
  
"Sonny," Sonny said.   
  
"Sunny?" Zephon asked, raising one eyebrow. Sonny nodded. "What kind of a name is that? What are you, a vampire or a dog?"   
  
Sonny broke into another high-pitched laugh.   
  
"Or a horse, perhaps..." Zephon mused. "Now what was I..."   
  
"Land," Sonny said helpfully. He had no idea why this was such a stroke of genius, but Zephon seemed convinced that it was.   
  
"Yes! Land, peace, protection," Zephon muttered, as if he was reciting a list. "Desperate times, desperate men, an opportunity..." He tapped the side of his finger on the edge of the table a few times, and went back to pacing. "It's going to take all the smoke and mirrors I can muster, but it could work... If I can find strong men, soldiers..." He stopped still, one finger raised, "Rebels!"   
  
"Here," he said, pointing at a dark place on the map. "You have rebels here."   
  
"Where?"   
  
"In these marshes, under the... to the south of yours and Melchiah's place."   
  
"--The Southern Swamps?"   
  
"Yes, whatever you call it, there are free tribes there, yes?"   
  
"Uh, yeah," Sonny said, still utterly lost.   
  
"How much of a problem are they?"   
  
"Well, I think they're fairly quiet lately, I don't really know, Anders' men deal with them..."   
  
"No," Zephon said impatiently, "I mean how strong are they? Do they ever claim victims?"   
  
"Occasionally," Sonny admitted. "The swamps themselves are more dangerous than them, though. They cower deep inside it, and they've put up traps everywhere. It's impenetrable. I don't see..."   
  
"Impenetrable to you, and me," Zephon said, smiling dangerously.   
  
Sonny frowned.   
  
"No, this could work. Green, fertile land, theirs to claim as their own... If I get _them_ to fight, and fight dirty... " He stared off into the distance for a moment, before an evil thought lit up his face. "The Flamethrower! That's what we need."   
  
"Flamethrower?" Sonny asked, doubtfully.   
  
"You won't have heard of it," Zephon said dismissively. "Melchiah invented it centuries ago, but it was immediately outlawed. I think the time has come to resurrect it... All I need is the designs, and Melchiah never throws anything away, he's too careful for that." His eyes gleamed, and a grim expression set his face. "It's about time the claws came out. I'm not playing nice anymore. I _will_ defend what's mine..." Abruptly, he turned to the chest of drawers in the corner, and pulled out another map. He unrolled it on top of the first, and studied it, an intense look in his eyes. It seemed to be a more detailed map of his own territory. Sonny watched, mesmerised. If he wasn't mistaken, Zephon was planning to set an army of mortals on his vampire enemies. He traced the courses of rivers and streams, whispering half-formed words. Sonny slowly began to understand; humans were weak and died like flies, but they did have certain advantages over their undead masters. If Zephon could turn this into _his_ advantage... Suddenly, Zephon turned to him again.   
  
"Sonny, you cannot begin to understand how helpful you've been," he said, with genuine gratitude. "I can tell you're an intelligent lad. Do you think... Do you want to stay here?"   
  
"What? Er, that is, how do you mean?" Sonny stammered.   
  
"I told you, Sonny, I don't have many men left." He stood with his hands leaned on the table, close to Sonny. "I need someone to lead these mortals, someone to inspire them. Daring men, men of intelligence, to represent me in the field. Someone of impeccable honour, a shining example of the divinity our gift bestows..." He looked deep into Sonny's widening eyes and added, "Men like you, Sonny."   
  
Sonny was stunned, laughed again briefly. This was outrageous flattery, he was well aware, but it still filled him with a sense of pride. Could Zephon mean it?   
  
"I would keep you well, as I've already indicated -- I keep my men far from hunger. You would be given your own regiment of templar, men that will obey you without question." He smiled. "I think you would prove very useful..."   
  
"I --" Sonny began, shaking his head.   
  
"I already told you, Raziel does not expect you back," Zephon coaxed.   
  
Sonny cast his eyes down, shaking his head again. The truth was, he was sorely tempted. His own regiment... That was a big step up from being at the bottom of the Razelim foodchain. He imagined himself leading these men into battle, hunting down Turelim parties, guarding the villagers and farms. He could be a hero. And to be kept well-fed, that would have tempted anyone. Blood was the best part of any night. Not that Marius didn't allow him to feed, but...   
  
His happy dreams ground to a halt. _Marius._ What would his captain say if he knew he was thinking these things? It suddenly seemed unreal, this place, this entire conversation. He was talking to a clan leader, by the saints! What was he thinking, he was only a fledge! And yet...   
  
"You have potential, Sonny," Zephon purred, and for a moment, Sonny was lost in his yellow-green eyes. Did they really see potential in him? What if it was true, what if Raziel did not expect him back? Had his Master really sent him here to be rid of him? But why, he hadn't done anything! Zephon smiled, like a proud father smiling at a son. Raziel had never looked at him with anything but utter indifference. Could he...?   
  
Voilently, he shook his head, breaking the gaze. No, it was all a lie! Zephon was just manipulating him, he must have planned this from the start! Of course Raziel expected him to come back, he had the messenger's badge, hadn't he? Messengers could not be harmed, they were inviolate. Zephon was trying to ensnare him in a web of lies, or... Sonny sighed. Even if he was not, he could not break the bonds that tied him to his Lord and Master. He was Razelim. That was enough.   
  
"No, I'm sorry, but I cannot," he said, determined. "I am flattered, but I have an obligation to my Master, and my captain. And my brethren," he added after a moment's thought. He had been with the Mäuse from birth, they were his family. No regiment of worshippers could replace them. He thought back to the scrumptious acolyte that had led him here and felt a pang of regret. No, he shook his head again, he could not. He was Razelim.   
  
"Pity," Zephon said, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. "I would have hoped you'd be smarter than that. You still think Raziel cares for your loyalty?"   
  
"It doesn't matter," Sonny answered blankly, "I care for my loyalty."   
  
"More than you care for your life?" Zephon asked softly, and before Sonny could respond he grabbed him by the chin and pinned his head against the wall. He knocked over the chair and sent the coloured pebbles flying from the table. Sonny fought to free himself, but soon realised it was hopeless. Zephon held him in an iron grip; his second finger was digging into the soft flesh beneath his chin. "Did you really think I would let you go, after all I told you?" Zephon hissed. Sonny gurgled a reply. "I can't risk you talking about this to your Master, he'll tell Kain, or warn Turel!" He smiled broadly all of a sudden. "Hmm, I haven't had Razelim in a while. Thank you for dropping by..." He leaned closer, drawing his teeth close to Sonny's jugular.   
  
"Please!" Sonny choked, "You promised!"   
  
Zephon froze, an inch away from Sonny's neck. "I did," he said. "But you're too big a risk now, Sonny." Sonny could feel his breath on the skin of his neck. He strained to get away, but Zephon was far stronger.   
  
"I won't tell a soul, please, don't!" he cried, terrified.   
  
"You promise?" Zephon asked. His lips brushed against Sonny's throat.   
  
"I swear!"   
  
Suddenly, Zephon released him, and he slid to the floor in a graceless heap between the chair and table. Zephon towered over him, his arms crossed, his short red hair enflamed by the lamplight behind him.   
  
"Let's hear you swear," he said, an obscene grin showing off his long canines.   
  
Sonny put his right hand over the centre of his heaving chest, and locked eyes with his captor. "I, Sonny, son of Jens of Lucas Razelim, swear upon my honour as a son of Raziel that I will not breathe a word of this to anyone!"   
  
Zephon nodded, satisfied, and reached out his hand to help Sonny back to his feet. Sonny took it, and dusted himself off, tittering nervously. When he looked up again, Zephon was smiling fondly at him.   
  
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" he asked.   
  
Sonny nodded. Yes, absolutely certain.   
  
Zephon shrugged. "Then you may go. There is something I do wish you would tell your Master, though."   
  
"To impale himself on his weaponry?" Sonny asked, before he could think better of it. "To fall down a hole and take a swim in the Lake of the Dead?" There was a silence, in which Zephon eyed him calmly. Sonny grinned stupidly, hoping he had not pushed his luck too far.   
  
"You could say that," Zephon said, "if you were particularly eager to die..."   
  
Sonny burst out into another of his little laughs.   
  
"No, tell him I will accept his offer, and moreover, that I will send a delagation soon to purchase all the arms and armour he can spare, and all that Darheim has to offer as well. Tell him --"   
  
.   
  
"-- clan Zephon is going to war."   
  
Raziel regarded him with a bemused expression. He was sitting at his writing desk, his chair half-turned around so he could face Sonny.   
  
"Are they indeed?" he said. "Although, I don't suppose they are left with much of a choice in the matter."   
  
Sonny gave no answer. His message was delivered, he was waiting to be dismissed.   
  
"Did he say anything else?"   
  
Sonny thought back to the torrent of curses Zephon had unleashed after reading the letter and grinned nervously. "Not that was intelligible, my Lord," he said.   
  
Raziel chuckled. "I see. I don't suppose my message pleased him, then?"   
  
"No, I think it's safe to say it did not."   
  
"Did he ask you anything?"   
  
"Like what?" Sonny evaded.   
  
Raziel stood up and slowly approached him, a suspicious look in his eyes. He stopped when his face was a hand's width apart from Sonny's. "Like the thing he asked you," he said in a low voice.   
  
Sonny's despairing laugh rang out in the room before he could stifle it. He could not lie to his Master, but neither could he break his word. Kain's blood! This was exactly why he never took oaths. "I am not at liberty to say," he said, finally.   
  
"He made you swear," Raziel stated.   
  
"Yes..." Sonny admitted, taking a careful step back.   
  
"Did he tempt you, Sonny?"   
  
Hot blood burned in Sonny's face. He stood stock-still, his eyes locked with his Master's.   
  
"What did he offer you? Blood? Power?" Raziel sneered. "His pretty acolytes?"   
  
Sonny looked away, burning with shame. How could the Master know so much? "My Lord, please..." he said softly.   
  
"Tell me _something_." Raziel's voice had a dangerous edge to it. "What did he want to know? What did you tell him? What is he planning to do with weapons if he hasn't got an army?"   
  
Sonny pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead.   
  
"I command you, soldier!" Raziel shouted, but Sonny slowly shook his head. He would rather be disobedient than be an oath-breaker. He'd been disciplined before; he could take it.   
  
Raziel growled softly in frustration. "Little snake," he muttered.   
  
"What?" Sonny exclaimed, genuinely offended. "But I didn't do anything wrong, my Lord! I told him no! Yes, he offered me blood, and power, and acolytes, and I told him to keep them. I owe you allegiance so I refused to serve him! And he made me swear on my honour, and now I return and you call me a snake but I told him no. For you!" He realised he was rambling. Raziel was looking at him with an almost puzzled expression.   
  
"I meant Zephon," he whispered helpfully.   
  
Sonny's mouth momentarily formed a perfect 'O'. Then he smiled again, the same desperate, helpless grin that had gotten him into trouble with his betters so often before.   
  
"So he asked you to join him," Raziel said, barely hiding his amusement. "He must be desperate indeed."   
  
"What?" Sonny squeeked. Raziel regarded him, unmoved. "What have I done to deserve this treatment, sir? Why did you send _me_ to carry the message?"   
  
Raziel shrugged. He returned to his writing-desk and sat down again. "You were the first at hand. Why do you assume there was a reason?" he asked.   
  
"But you must have known the message would anger Zephon, what if he'd taken his anger out on me? He very nearly did!" Sonny hated how high-pitched and weak his voice sounded, but he couldn't help himself.   
  
"And yet you return, unharmed," Raziel said, turning around his his chair once more. His voice turned sarcastic as he added, "Well done."   
  
"But," Sonny started.   
  
"You may go now," Raziel said, leafing through the papers on his desk. Sonny didn't move, his indignation had nailed him to the spot. For this he had turned down Zephon's offer? For a Lord who didn't even care whether he lived or died? Was his worth so little?   
  
Raziel sighed audibly. Without turning around, he asked, "You do realise his offer was a lie, don't you?"   
  
Sonny was silent, conflicting emotions twisting his features.   
  
"He doesn't stand a chance against Turel and he knows it. He would have simply sent you off to die," Raziel stated, impatiently.   
  
"Like you did?" Sonny shrieked, and immediately regretted it. His Lord stood up and stalked towards him, his voice trembling with barely suppressed anger.   
  
"What, do you regret your decision, fledgling? Would you rather serve him? Go then, I release you. Let him waste his blood on you! Go! Join him in his pathetic battle, if you wish, but don't you dare return to my doorstep again!"   
  
Sonny backed away towards the door, shaking his head.   
  
"No?" Raziel looked down at him, fangs bared. He narrowed his eyes and growled, "Then get out and report to your captain!"   
  
.   
  
Sonny stumbled into the hallway; the door slammed shut behind him. He leaned against the wall opposite, cursing under his breath. Kain's blood! How often could you tempt fate in one night? He pressed his hand against his mouth to stifle a giggle and rushed through the hallway, across the walkway to the inner tower and down the stairs that ran along outside it. He halted at the bottom of the stairs. The domed hall was deserted, dawn was coming. A sliver of light fell through a high window on the plain stone floor. He sighed. With his luck as it was tonight, Marius would give him what-for as well now. He looked back up the staircase tower where he'd come from, then to where he was going. He turned around in circles for a moment. Zephon's words came back to him. _You have potential, Sonny._   
  
Who else had ever seen potential in him? He could lead a regiment; he was easily old enough. He knew, with a chrystal clarity, that if he stayed here he'd be stuck with guard-shifts, tax collecting and petty patrols for another seventy years, if not longer. Was it really wrong to want more? If Raziel didn't want him here, then what was keeping him?   
  
His feet started moving before he realised he'd taken a decision. He hopped back up the stairs, undoing the straps on his vambraces. He put them on the floor at the top of the tower, hastily, and took off his sword, and the red tunic that declared him what he was; a Razelim.   
  
He hesitated before turning down the hallway that led to Raziel's rooms. The last thing he wanted now was to run into him. His heart pounding in his chest, he snuck down the hallway and placed the little bundle in front of his door, Razelim no more. He bowed, as a final salute, and then pelted back down the hallway as fast as his feet could carry him. His footsteps echoed on the walkway to the tower, and he bounded down the winding stairs. He raced through the deserted keep, out the gate, past the guards.   
  
"Sonny?" one of them called after him, but he didn't look back. His life here was forfeit, or would be soon. His future now lay in the East and hopefully, it would smile on him. 


End file.
